<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>holy impurity by poisonrationalitie</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28502775">holy impurity</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonrationalitie/pseuds/poisonrationalitie'>poisonrationalitie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Counting On (TV) RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Honeymoon, Religious Guilt, purity culture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:09:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>911</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28502775</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonrationalitie/pseuds/poisonrationalitie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire’s first week of marriage leaves her exhausted and spiralling.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Justin Duggar/Claire Spivey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>holy impurity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s the second-last night of their honeymoon, and it’s meant to be much better than this. They’re just sitting in their pyjamas, the same way they did six months ago at her house (her parents’ house, now, because she’ll go home to a brand new house she hasn’t called home yet), except now they’re on a king bed in a hotel room rather than on her family’s old couch and there aren’t any younger siblings around. And she’s sorer than usual, from long nights and busy days, and her mouth aches from smiling for the cameras. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she feels guilt like she’s never known it before. In the past, any guilt has been absolved by confessing to God and her parents. Now it lingers like rotting trash when Robby forgets to take it out. This morning, Justin got out of the shower before her and as he dressed in the other room, Claire pressed her forehead to the glittering wet tiles and cried. There’s no absolution for something that is not a sin; what they’ve been doing is a blessing, a gift, but what feels so holy in the moment makes her feel filthy when it’s done. She is spent, she has given, she has </span>
  <em>
    <span>lost</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the horseshoe purity ring sits in the bottom of her make-up bag waiting to gather dust in her jewellery box until she has a daughter of age. She picked it out with her parents when she was twelve and twisted it through every boring sermon and conference and now she will never wear it again, because she is impure. But it’s not a sin, now, the way it would’ve been two weeks ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Justin says, voice cracking. He sits on the other corner of the bed, staring at the blank television screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” Claire replies. He fiddles with his wedding band, sliding it up and down his finger. It is alright - it is, it is, God said so and so of course it is, how could it not be? It’s sweet fellowship, it’s the purpose of marriage, the purpose of humanity, and she should not be vomiting for another two months. When he found her over the porcelain bowl, hands shaking, he suggested morning sickness, and she informed him that it would be far, far too early for that. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>be pregnant now, though, she realises, and puts a hand to her flat stomach. Eight days ago, she had never kissed a boy, and now there could be a baby in her stomach. Bile burns her throat again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s what she wants, though, isn’t it? It’s what every woman wants - a baby, as many babies as they can have. More importantly, it’s what He wants. She should not be afraid, but it grips her tight. She can’t cry. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Justin looks like he might, but not the same way as on their wedding day, and they can’t both cry. Only children cry; and they’re adults now, eighteen and just twenty (she blew out the candles three days ago) and married and maybe with a baby on the way and they can’t cry. She presses the tip of her pointer finger against the stone of her engagement ring until it hurts instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Claire says, after a while, testing the waters. She finds it true. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>love him; the way he plays with her siblings, how he helps her dad and makes her laugh and brings her flowers for the anniversary of the day he asked her dad permission to court and the day they first shared a drink together and because he saw an old couple holding hands and he wants it to be them one day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Claire,” Justin says, and she believes him, how could she not? They love each other, and their love is blessed by God, and yet, and yet, she is crying like a child. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not tonight. I can’t do tonight. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And they are a week into their marriage and she is failing as a wife and as a Christian and she is failing Justin but she is so, so, so tired. Never in her life has she been on camera so much, has she spent so much time away from her mom, from her siblings. Their absence too crawls into the gaps of her teeth and the spaces between her heartstrings to push and pull and hurt. Her head spins and her skin feels a thousand miles away from her bones and her mind is trapped inside her skull. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry,” she whispers to her knees, and wet sobs shake her stomach and she just wants to sleep, to hide, to wake up in her childhood bedroom with her teddy bear and the photos of her and her friends at camp on the shelf above her head. She wants that horseshoe ring back on her finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Justin says, but he could be talking from Heaven, or all the way from Fort Worth. “We don’t have to do anything tonight. It’s okay.” He wraps his arms around her and even that sears her flesh and sizzles like sin. A boy, a male, is hugging her and has his arms around her and holds her close and tight and their bodies touch and even though she’s hiccoughing tears, he may be tempted, and she is denying him and it’s her fault. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she is so, so tired. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>